The Wrong Path - By Vivian Marie Aubin du Paris Page 0,63

edge of the bed with his back to her. She could feel hostility rolling off of him as she stared at his stiffened shoulders, not quite sure what to do.

“Well?” Will finally asked, without turning to look at her. “He’s waiting.”

Almost on cue, she heard her mother’s voice again, louder this time. “Annabelle!”

Annabelle flinched, her heart pounding in her chest. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out to Will and placed it carefully on his tense back. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I promise.”

He gave no response. With pained movements she rose from the bed, an ache in her heart as she headed out of the room and down the stairs. Her mother was waiting for her at the bottom, her eyes sympathetic.

“He’s in the game room,” she told her, her voice soft.

It wasn’t until she was crossing the threshold to the game room that Annabelle realized it was the first time in her entire life her mother hadn’t knocked on her door to get her.

She hesitated, turning to look back in disbelief at her unusually perceptive mother. Did her mother know that Will was hiding in her room? How long had she known? Why hadn’t she said anything?

Her mother gave her a tender smile, full of understanding and compassion. Annabelle felt tears spring to her eyes, hoping her mother could feel the overwhelming gratitude she couldn’t even express. Of course her mother knew. Wasn’t that why she hadn’t said anything when Annabelle, who never ate a lot, made two sandwiches for lunch earlier that day? Wasn’t that why she hadn’t said anything when Annabelle kept disappearing into her room?

Both her parents had to know. And they trusted their daughter. Trusted her to make good decisions.

Annabelle had never loved her parents more than at that moment.

“Annabelle.”

The quiet sigh of happiness and relief brought her attention back to the game room—and her guest. She turned to look at the couch, where Trevor had stood. To her surprise he appeared almost completely unchanged except for a little discoloration from lack of sleep under his eyes. He smiled tiredly at her, but the smile was warm.

“Hi,” he greeted softly.

“Hi,” she returned, her voice sounding strained. She quickly cleared her throat and went on. “How are you doing?”

He offered a half-smile. “I’m okay. Hanging in there.” He walked toward her and held out a white envelope. “It’s an invitation to Mom’s funeral. For your family. It’s on Saturday.” She tried not to stiffen as his hand reached up and lightly combed through her hair. “I’d really like it if you were there.”

She felt almost sick as she forced herself to nod. “Of course we’ll be there. I’m really so sorry for your loss, Trevor.”

He nodded and smiled tiredly. “Thank you.” He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’d really like to stay, but I have to deliver some more invitations and help dad with the preparations. Maybe if you have some time later this week we could have dinner.”

The idea made her want to cry, but she smiled tightly. “Good luck with the preparations. Let me know if you need help with anything.”

He nodded again, then drew her to him, hugging her close. She tried not to shudder as he held her, her body rejecting the unfamiliar body against hers. She stepped away as quickly as she could without being rude and flashed a supportive smile, leading him to the door.

“I’ll see you later,” she offered weakly.

“See you,” he confirmed.

She shut the door behind him, racing back up to her room as quickly as she could. She hesitated outside of her door, terrified to open it and discover the room empty. Bracing herself, she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Will was sitting on the edge of her window, his feet just barely touching the floor as he stared out at the street between the two houses.

Relief flooded through her as she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. Will had stayed. He looked like he had been thinking about making a run for it, but he had stayed nonetheless. He had trusted her.

“Here,” she said softly, joining him at the window. She held out the invitation, watching as his eyes slowly lowered to the white envelope.

A brief look of confusion flashed across his face, followed quickly by dispassion. His head raised and he stood from the window, stepping around her to the middle of the room. “I don’t want to see it.”

She looked down at the carefully addressed